Going Home
by Emelie Martel
Summary: Just as things are beginning to work in their favor, Ranger is called away. Can he survive his capture and imprisonment at the hands of his enemies so they can be together again? Not for the faint of heart. As always, R/S HEA


Going Home

3/16/13

Just as things were beginning to work in their favor, Ranger was called away. Will he survive his capture and imprisonment at the hands of his enemies so they can be together again? Not for the faint of heart. As always, R/S HEA

"See you in the morning?" Stephanie asked as she tapped on the edge of the metal frame of Ranger's office door.  
"Are you leaving already?" He spun the Rolex on his wrist. "It's only five."  
"Dinner at Mom's. Dad's birthday. Remember? I have to pick something up for him at the mall before I get there. Is it okay if I leave a little early?"

He chuckled inwardly at her lack of planning.

"Of course it is. You don't need to ask, Babe."

"Wish you could come?" She sighed with acquiescence.

"Sorry, Babe. I can only meet with this client tonight. I made this appointment weeks ago. He just arrived from Milan and he's leaving the country again in the morning." He smiled hoping she'd recognize his immediate need.

"No problem. I understand." She did understand. She only wished that he didn't work so many hours. RangeMen, his fairly young security company, was thriving. There really was no longer the need to work around the clock as he had in the beginning. But she knew he was possessed. Possessed with the need to succeed.

"I'll make it up to you next week. I promise." His smile warmed her heart.

She was finally his. They were taking it slow, fearful that something would go wrong. They'd known each other and worked together for several years before he finally made his move. She'd broken up with her old boyfriend, Joe Morelli, for the umpteenth time so Ranger slid in under the radar. He took a chance and was rewarded with her easy acceptance.

"Will you be coming back tonight?" He hoped she'd return to his apartment to spend the night. He'd become quite accustomed to having her snuggling up to him in his bed. He'd miss her if she didn't return.

"I don't think so. Val and Albert will be there. I'd like to spend some time with the girls. I haven't seen them in a while. I'll go back to my apartment after. It's closer."

"I'll miss you." He said sincerely.

"Miss you too."

Lester, his cousin, walked passed the open door making kissy sounds.

"Les. Cut the crap." Ranger hollered out to him.

Les laughed maniacally just before he swatted Stephanie on the behind jokingly then headed for the men's room at a run. Ranger thought he was taking too many liberties with his woman. He'd have to speak to him. Stephanie threw her shoe at Les as he ran. They heard Lester Santos yelp as Stephanie hooted.

Vindicated!

"Homerun. Yeah!" She squealed as she pumped her arm.

Hector was in the hallway and handed Stephanie her sandal. "Nice shot."

Stephanie slid her foot back into her weapon of choice.

"Night Ranger."

"Good night Steph."

Reluctantly she turned to leave then took the stairs down to the parking garage several levels below.

Ranger sighed. He'd gladly cancel the meeting with this prospective client and re-schedule if he could, preferring to spend the evening with Stephanie Plum. But they'd had trouble connecting, he and the client, both being very busy men. It was now or never.

Stephanie pulled up to her parent's duplex in the quiet residential neighborhood known to the locals as the 'Burg'. Maple, oak and elm trees lined the streets with an occasional pine just for fun.

"Hey Grandma."

Her elderly grandmother, though still spry if not a little off her rocker, greeted her with a warm hug, a smile and a kiss to her delicate cheek. Her father grunted from his chair at the dining room table, fork and knife in hand.

"Happy Birthday Daddy." She placed the hastily wrapped gift on the hutch between the kitchen and living room archway then bent to peck her father's cheek.

"Punkin."

Frank Plum smiled at his baby. He loved that she was a free spirit and did her own thing. That she bucked the system. She wasn't a carbon copy of her mother like his eldest daughter Valerie. He loved his family, but his Stephie, his baby, his Punkin held a special place in his heart. In some ways, always the tomboy, she was the son he never had. Working as a bounty hunter showed him that she had grit. He was proud of her. Very proud of her and told her so whenever her mother wasn't around.

"Hi Mom. Val. Everybody."

Stephanie sat and smiled at her nieces, Angie and Mary Alice, sitting across from her giggling, as little girls are prone to do. The baby, Lisa, was in her high chair in the corner sucking on her bottle like there was no tomorrow.

"You're late." Her mother said sharply as she handed her a dish of thickly sliced pot roast, boiled potatoes and mashed carrots with turnip. A large chunk of butter pooled on top then slid onto the plate.

Helen Plum had yet to understand or forgive her youngest daughter, the rebel, for dumping the Italian cop, Joseph Anthony Morelli, who owned a home of his own, in favor of that 'other' man. She'd never even met his mother or father. "Where is … you're friend tonight?" She refused to say the name Ranger or boyfriend. "Too busy to come to your father's birthday party?"

"Ranger sends his apologies, Daddy. He had to meet with a client that is leaving the country in the morning. This was the only time they could get together."

"Joseph would have found the time to at least make an appearance." Her mother mumbled under her breath. "More gravy Albert? Mother?"

"Enough Helen. It's my birthday. Leave the girl alone."

"He said he'd see you next week Daddy." Stephanie added, ignoring her mother's comment.

"No worries, Punkin. We had lunch the other day. He wished me an early Happy Birthday then and called me this afternoon to apologize again."

"When did you have lunch with _him_?" Her mother growled with her hands on her hips.

Sometime later, after many more cold stares and verbal jabs, Frank opened his gifts as they all ate his marble birthday cake with lemon ganache frosting topped with harlequin ice cream.

Shortly after the cake was destroyed and the gifts lay opened, Stephanie headed home to her apartment. She slithered into the black satin negligee that Ranger had gotten for her on their recent trip to New York City, then crawled under the matching black satin sheets. She drifted off to sleep dreaming of the man on the other side of town. Maybe it was time to give up her apartment and move in with him as he'd suggested yet again the night before. The previous night had been paradise.

At seven o'clock, Ranger rang the bell outside the large oak doors at the Mansion on Joanne Lane just on the outer rim of Trenton New Jersey. A mixture of merry chimes was heard as the butler, Antoine, opened the door and directed Ranger to the library where Gianni diTomasi waited along with his wife Genevieve and her father, a Mr. Grimaldi.

Thick cigar smoke filled the air that rose then rested on the many volumes burrowed alphabetically by author then title on the dark mahogany shelves that covered the walls. Asimov, Dickens, Hemingway, Melville, Patterson, Poe, Shakespeare. Most were leather bound and gilded. Some were first editions. Others worn nearly beyond recognition.

Mr. Grimaldi sat quietly in his wheelchair. A dark tartan plaid woolen blanket he'd picked up in Killarney, covered his wilted limbs. His body may have gone to seed but his mind was still sharp.

"Don't fuss at me, Genevieve." He scolded his daughter as she tucked the blanket needlessly around his legs.

"Yes, Papa." She uttered embarrassed and contrite then sat in the chair beside him. Her hands folded neatly on her lap, feet planted lady-like on the floor.

"Let us get down to business. We're leaving first thing in the morning for Tuscany, as you know."

"Yes sir."

Ranger covered the hand crafted Victorian desk in the center of the room with the blueprints and overlays that he and his team from RangeMen Security had designed for the elaborate security system for the new Grimaldi wing of the Metropolitan Art Museum being built in Newark.

Grimaldi asked several questions and made more suggestions as his son-in-law nodded and his daughter sat in silence. After several hours of wrangling, they finally came to a mutual agreement. Ranger amended the contract on his laptop and the deal was signed. Ranger would speak to the contractor in charge of construction, then RangeMen would begin the installation of the elaborate state-of-the-art security system as soon as production began.

It was well after ten o'clock before Ranger left the estate and nearly eleven before he reached his apartment on Haywood Street. Much too late to stop in to see Stephanie, he thought with a smile on his face. She'd be far off in dreamland at that hour. He'd see her in the morning.

He showered then sat up in his bed, leaning his back up against the brass bars of his headboard to decompress after his meeting. With a beer in one hand, and bit of Bach in his ears, he let the evening's conversations whirl like an eddy in his mind. The subtle changes would have to be gone over in the morning. He and his crew would finalize everything then.

Ranger was just beginning to relax on the very edge of nodding off when a recognizable and unwanted sound filled the room. He knew what the buzzing sound meant before he reached for the phone asleep for the night in its charger on the side table beside the bed. It wouldn't be good news. It never was.

"Yes?" He said as he rubbed his forehead with his hand then slid his fingers through his damp hair.

"Colonel Manoso?"

"Yes."

"This is Private Emery. I'm calling on behalf of General Maffei. Would you hold for his call please?"

There was a moment of apposite silence before Ranger heard the memorable gravelly smoker's voice. He set his empty beer bottle on the table alongside the charger and prepared for the worst.

"Ranger." He inhaled. "How are you doing?" He held his breath allowing the smoke to rot his lungs.

"Well General, and yourself?"

He exhaled before he continued.

"Well enough, I guess. Can't complain. Who the hell would listen?" He coughed his familiar smoker's cough as he laughed at his own joke.

"What can I do for you at this late hour, sir?" Never hurt to dig when you had the right shovel.

"I'll get right to the point. Now, listen, I know that you're wanting to get out of this business but I've got a quick job with your name written on it. In and out. Three, four days. Maybe a week, max. Whatdya say Ranger? Same fee?"

"I'd prefer not to sir. You see…"

It really wasn't any of the General's business but he thought he'd mention the situation with Stephanie and his hopes for their future together.

"Yes, yes. I know all about the little woman in your life. But take note. This is gonna be quick easy money for you. In and out, like I said. She won't even know that you're gone."

"Sir, I really don't…"

General Maffei got serious. Virtually buffing the brass stars on his shoulder in Ranger's face.

"Colonel Manoso, listen. I've spoken to the man upstairs," referring to the President of the United States, "he's authorized me to double your customary fee, if necessary. You're the only man qualified to do this job. We need you and your special skills. Your country needs you."

Ranger let out a breath as he thumbed his brow then gazed at the ceiling before he replied. "Forgive me Babe." He whispered with the phone under his chin.

"Colonel? Are you still there?"

"Yes, sir. I'm still here." Unfortunately.

"So? Will you do it?"

Again he sighed and bit his lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood.

"A week at the most, you say?"

"Yes. Yes. A few days to a week, like I said."

"Double my fee? Plus expenses?"

"Expenses?" He sucked more nicotine.

"Plus a daily bonus for any time over seven days?"

"Look. I can't…"

"My terms are non-negotiable. You know that General. I'm a civilian now." He had him. He felt it. He'd never agree to that much money. The country was in a recession.

"Okay. Okay. You drive a hard bargain, but yes. I'm sure I could secure a few more bucks for you."

Fuck!

"Alright. I'll do it. Count me in." Did he have a choice? Certainly not. "When do I have to leave?" He acquiesced.

"Your flight leaves Newark at ten tomorrow morning. Be on it. A courier…"

"Tomorrow morning? General. I have a business to run here. A huge project coming up." Grimaldi and the museum addition that he'd been on working so hard. "I need some time to get my affairs in order before I leave. To get my men prepared. A few days at least."  
Stephanie? When would he have time to tell Stephanie? How would he tell her? What would he say? Godammit.

"Sorry. No can do. A courier will meet you at the airport with your orders." He continued as though Ranger hadn't said a word. You'll get the usual call on your SAT phone with his location when you arrive. I salute you colonel. Your country salutes you."

Ranger pictured General Maffei with his hand raised to his brow. The sonovabitch.

"Good night Colonel."

"Yeah. Good night to you too, General." Ranger said to a dead phone.

Ranger made quick calls to his business partners, Tank Thibodeau the general manager, Bobby Brown the company medic and Lester Santos, his supply and munitions expert. They'd pass the word around that the boss would be out of commission for the next week. Tank agreed to drive him to the airport in the morning. They'd discuss any business concerns on the way. The Grimaldi project would be a priority.

In the past, before he'd leave on a mission, he'd stop by Stephanie's apartment and watch her sleep. It centered him allowing him to do the job he was assigned. Not since they'd been together as a couple had he been given such a task. But he had one now. He glanced at the clock on the dining room wall. Fuck the late hour. He had to see Stephanie. How would he broach the subject?

"Shit."

His bag was packed and slung over his shoulder as he trudged down the seven flights of stairs to the parking garage to delay the inevitable. Choosing to take the F150 pick-up, he'd leave it at Stephanie's apartment for her to use while he was gone. Then he thought again with his hand on the door handle glancing to his left. Maybe he should leave her the Porsche instead. Hell. He knew she wouldn't use it. She'd bring it back, afraid to damage it. He spun in his tracks and took the Turbo anyway. Let her bring it back. At least he'd offered it to her. He'd give her anything if he thought it would make her happy.

Slowly he climbed up the steps toward her meager home on the second floor and unlocked her door with his key. Rex, her pet hamster was busily plodding a course to nowhere on his treadmill, several hours into his nocturnal labors.

A small light shone over her dated stove as well as a nightlight in her dining room, just outside her bathroom door. Carefully he set his bag on her table then slipped silently into her bedroom. The chair squeaked minutely as he sat. Stephanie stirred in her sleep at the sound.

She was lying on her stomach. Her long curly brown hair covered her face and draped down her arm toward the small fuzzy pink scatter rug on the floor. The other was over her head. One leg was under the sheet, one was on top allowing her nightie to rise, letting the smile of the quarter moon of her soft sweet behind to peek out at him.

He allowed himself to slouch as he laced his long determined fingers behind his head. He let out a breath as he closed his eyes taking in the peace and quiet of his surroundings. Rex continued his ministrations on the kitchen counter and the clock continued the methodic chink of a metronome. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

"Ranger?" Stephanie was kneeling in front of him rubbing his thighs. "What are you doing here, Batman? It's late." He'd nodded off.

Opening his eyes, he smiled as lunar beams peeked through the blinds and shone on her form.

"Hey Babe. I'm sorry if I woke you." Sitting up, he pulled Stephanie onto his lap and nuzzled his face in the satin fabric covering her chest. "Don't wake me up. I'm in heaven."

Stephanie was a smart woman. She knew why he was there.

"Are you going away again?"

He nodded, "Yeah Babe. I am." then lifted his head to look at her. "I'm sorry."

"When did you find out?" She touched his hair, his face, his shoulders. Making memories.

"A short time ago." Her arms were soft and warm from sleep, under his calloused hands."My flight leaves at ten. I had to see you before I left."

She slid from his lap, stood beside him and took his hand.

"Come to bed."

"I'm okay. Really. I just want to be here with you." He tugged at her to get her to sit again.

"No. Come to bed with me."

"I can't sleep, Babe. You know that."

"Then we won't sleep." Her smile was seductive. He loved it when she took the initiative in the bedroom. How could he resist the advances of the woman he adored?

With his finger under the thin black satin strap, he released it from her left shoulder then her right. He let the gown glide to the floor and pool into a dark puddle on the buff colored carpeting. Naked, she knelt before him and untied his boots then tugged on them to remove, placing his socks over the rims. She unbuttoned his shirt and he allowed her to slide it down his strong arms. He undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants.

They held each other in the cool evening breeze of the unseasonably warm winter evening as the tattered curtains danced against the window sills. Hand in hand they climbed into her bed and made passionate love until Rex went back to sleep.

Slumber was sporadic as Mr. Sandman never truly arrived.

Morning found them sweaty and breathless, entangled in sodden black sheets.

"You didn't get much sleep, my love." Ranger said as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her face then tucked it behind her ear.

"I was otherwise occupied." She chuckled slightly then blushed a rosy shade of pink.

"You're so beautiful when you blush."

She changed the subject to one more grim.

"How long will you be gone this time?" Her hand traveled up and down his chiseled arms and chest, making more memories.

"A few days. Maybe a week at the most. It depends on how it goes. You won't even know that I'm gone." He repeated General Maffei's words.

"I see. Do you know what you'll be doing?"

"I can only assume."

"Oh. Don't ask. Don't tell. Right?"

"Something like that."

"Can I take you to the airport?"

"Tank said he'd pick me up when I call him. You should get some more sleep."

"No. Please. I'll have a week to sleep. I want to go too." Sitting up, she pulled the sheet up to cover her nudity.

"Babe."

"Please Ranger. It's different with us now."

Pulling her back down to his level, he said, "I know. It's going to be so much more difficult to say goodbye to each other this time."

Dreading their parting, he leaned his forehead on hers as a bird chirped a happy 'good morning' outside her bedroom window on the fire escape railing.

"I'd like you to do something for me."

"Anything. You know that."

"I'd like you to stay in my apartment while I'm gone."

"But…"

"Please. This mission is going to be very intense. I can't be distracted. I need to know that you'll be safe. I can't be worrying about you. Will you do this for me?"

"Of course." She conceded easily.

"Maybe you'll like it enough to move in with me when I get back." He tried again.

"Maybe I will."

He kissed her softly. Just to tease her.

"Then will you marry me?" He asked, full of hope since she was in an 'agreeable' mood.

"No." She replied again. They'd played through this scenario a hundred times before. Always with the same results.

"Someday?"

Then she surprised him with her reply. Her answer had always been, 'never'. He was ready.

"Maybe."

"Really?"

"Don't push your luck." She joked.

Stephanie loved Ranger. There was no doubt in his mind but she was hesitant to marry again. Hell. He was uncertain as well. Her first marriage had been a disaster and she was terrified that if she and Ranger married that it would be the end of their relationship as well as their friendship.

Ranger was normally a smart man but he pushed anyway.

"I have another small favor to ask of you."

"What do you need?" Love nibbles peppered his chin.

"It's not a favor as much as it is a wish."

Pulling back a little, she cocked her head to look at him.

"A wish?"

"Yes. If you won't marry me then I'd like you to be my partner."

"Partner? What kind of partner?"

"My partner in life. I know that we said we'd take it slow and it's probably too soon, but before I leave, I want you to know that I'm coming back home to you. I want a life with you Stephanie. You're not ready for marriage. A ring. But I want a commitment. I left a message for my attorney. He'll be contacting you and Tank to draw up papers. You'll…"

"Papers? What kind of papers? Ranger, what are you talking about?"

"A partnership, like I said. I want you to be a full partner in everything I own personally just like a married couple. I can't give you more that fifty percent of my share of RangeMen, that's in my contact with my other partners but I'm willing to share that with you too, Babe. I have a sizeable estate, as you may have guessed. You'll never want for anything again."

"Ranger I don't want your money."

"I know that, my love, but I have family and siblings that may try to take what is rightfully yours in the event that something ever happens to me." The 'if' word was left unspoken.

"Don't say that." Her bottom lip began to quiver.

"I won't live forever Steph. I want you financially secure."

"Don't say that." She repeated shaking her head side to side. Her damp curls sticking to her cheeks and forehead.

Catching the tear threatening to spill from her eye and run down her cheek, he wiped it gently with his thumb.

They made love one more time then showered and dressed. Ranger called Tank. Stephanie was allowed to tag along after all. He couldn't tolerate leaving her behind any more than she could bear to let him go away. Tank and Ranger talked business most of the way from Trenton to the Liberty International Airport in Newark. Ranger handed a folder with his notes on the Grimaldi deal to Les. He and Bobby thumbed through it. Piece of cake, they thought.

Stephanie didn't mind the journey as long as Ranger was near. She was content although the closer they got to his eventual departure, the more apprehensive she became. Their embrace was long and tear laced until his phone sang that miserable tune. The courier had spotted him. It was time to go to work for the US government. One last quick kiss goodbye and they parted. Tank saluted as Ranger adjusted his beret. The salute was returned to both Tank and Stephanie as well as his men who had also tagged along.

Stephanie stood tall and straight and saluted the colonel as she'd been taught then blew him a kiss for good measure. His smile was strained.

Bobby scrutinized Les as he tried to make light of the situation, as always. They'd watch over her like a sister for their friend and continue to comfort her until he returned home safely to regain his rightful place by her side.

Ranger had been transfixed, mesmerized and broken as he observed Stephanie walk away from him. Stephanie covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her sobs as Tank wrapped his arm over her shoulders for support. Tank held her as they passed through the revolving glass door toward the parking lot, her back bobbing with each step as she moved. He knew she was crying. He needed to go to her, to comfort her but he knew he could do nothing to console her.

He had a job to do. Was it really worth the money? He promised himself that he'd spend every red cent he earned on her when he returned. How? He'd build her that damned Batcave she'd always imagined. Where? Maybe under the vacant lot he owned that he'd used as his address when he first moved to Trenton from Miami. The thought made him smile.

Sir? Sir?"

The young private asked, interrupting Ranger's musings of his future with Stephanie. He mentally switched gears.

"What?"

He spun to the right in a perfect 90 degree military turn and greeted the young soldier also dressed in tan desert camo fatigues. He was holding the one of many covert operation packets.

"Are you Colonel Manoso?"

"Yes. Yes I am." He tapped the name stamped in black block letters on his chest.

"Could I see some ID please, sir?"

"What?"

ID? Did this little pissant not know who he was?

"Sorry sir. My superior requires that I see your identification before I hand you your orders."

"Of course." He reached into his back pocket and removed his military ID. The young man was following instructions just as he had at that age. He couldn't fault the boy.

The young man, no more than twelve years of age, Ranger thought, saluted the colonel.

"Private Emery sir. We spoke on the phone. Pleasure to meet you in person, sir."

With the manila envelope tucked under his arm, he boarded his flight.

His plane ticket was to New York's JFK, then by military shuttle to Stewart International Airport located in the southern Hudson Valley, west of Newburgh, New York. That's where he would meet up with General Maffei. The following day he'd head for Istanbul, Turkey and on to Kabul, Afghanistan. Thirty five to forty hours to his destination.

He'd gotten little to no sleep the night before and probably would get none that night or the next. Seldom able to relax enough to get any rest before a mission, he needed a quick adrenaline rush. He read his orders.

They were simple. A real fucking picnic. Take out Farhad Zahid Azizi, a high ranking member of Al Qaida working closely with the Taliban currently holding court somewhere in the Pamir Mountains, one of the highest peaks on earth. There was a grainy photo of a middle aged man with a graying beard and a white s_awati pakol_ enveloping his head while standing in front of an assortment of Chinese arms hanging from the wall behind him.

Pamir Mountain was also called 'the top of the world' and part of the Himalayas bordering Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and China. Snow covered the ground year round. Was he prepared? Would he be supplied with a qualified team, proper gear, and armament for those conditions? He made notes in his mind. Questions for General Maffei. This mission was going to be a disaster. There hadn't been enough time to prepare mentally, physically and certainly not strategically.

Nearly fifty hours after he left Stephanie behind in the Newark, New Jersey airport, he arrived at the US military outpost in Kabul. Stephanie would already be expecting him to be on his way back home.

Ranger was introduced to his assigned squad, such as it was. Two tall thin Afghani men resembling Azizi, named _Hadi_ and _Rahman_. They would be his guides for his trek up the side of Pamir in search of the cave, where the man himself was supposed to be holdout. They set about discussing their agenda for their ascent. The men were familiar with the terrain and would get him to his target.

At home, Stephanie continued to work, to live, to survive. She caught skips by day, and helped Tank with Ranger's paperwork by night. She slept in his bed, what little she did manage to sleep. Watched his TV and showered in his shower. Ella, his housekeeper, kept her well fed, though she'd lost most of her appetite.

Stephanie had begun her countdown to his homecoming as soon as Tank pulled out of the airport parking lot. Hours became days. A week had passed but there was no word when the anxiety and trepidation that something would happen took hold in earnest. She feared Ranger's safe return. She went to Tank.

Not to worry, he'd said. Sometimes missions take a little longer than planned. These things happen. Bad intel is fed. Things don't go well. Shit happens. Be patient. He was as concerned as she was though he tried not to show it in her presence.

Another week went by without a word.

In the meantime, Tank's phone calls to General Maffei's office and his minions remained unanswered. Out of his office. He was away. Out of town. Tank called any and every source he knew yet garnered zilch in return. The big man's angry tenor got him nothing but a dial tone. His frustration ran rampant.

Armed and dressed like Eskimos or Dan Akroyd and Chevy Chase in the blockbuster movie _Spies Like Us_, Ranger and his guides headed up the snow packed side of Pamir. Strong biting wind whipped at their faces partially covered with woolen scarves as they scaled. He hoped that they wouldn't have to climb to the forbidding summit.

Normally hatless throughout the warmer New Jersey winters, Ranger opted for the _Shapka Ushanka_, a Russian winter hat with furry ear flaps. It wasn't stylist by anyone's imagination, but it was warm. Why couldn't their target have shown his face in the summer? Why did he have to make an appearance in January?

They'd reached a height of nearly 2000 feet or 610 meters when one of the guides pointed to a deserted coal mine entrance ahead but below them.

"There."

The taller of the two men named _Rahman_ said, pointing to the spot where the enemy was holed up. _Hadi_ nodded in agreement. The opening to the cave was covered in rotted planks crisscrossed with 'Danger. Keep Out' written in Dari with yellow spray paint.

"Are you sure?"

Ranger was doubtful as he lay in the snow behind a pile of rocks, leaning on his elbows with his binoculars aimed at the area. Although he remained dry, he could feel the cold from the frozen earth below him creeping into his underside. "It looks deserted."

"Yes. Yes. You look good." Rahman emphasized in his broken English and pointed to a small darkened area in the snow about twenty feet from the entrance to the cave.

"See." The younger of the two men said as he pretended to twist his eyes as though adjusting his own set of binoculars. Ranger could barely make out a small stone circle with what looked like newspapers, burnt to a crisp. Although snow threatened, an overhead cloud passed briefly allowing the sun to shine and reflect off of a metal object. Possibly a coffee pot? As he adjusted the lens distance again, he could make out the well worn foot path leading to and from the entrance.

"Well I'll be damned." He said to himself. He was too far away to get a good shot even if the God's were with him and the man of the hour should suddenly appear. He didn't have time to wait, the sun was setting and he didn't trust his guides to protect him while he slept. He'd have to get closer and make a run for it hoping Azizi was alone, knowing that was doubtful. He'd have guards and they'd be armed to the hilt. "Okay. How do we get down there without being detected?" Ranger asked as he squinted into the sunlight. A new cloud appeared above giving his eyes a respite.

"Sheep."

"Sheep?"

"Yes. Sheep. They hide your … your…" He consulted with his friend. "feet." Both men wiggled their fingers animatedly and stomped their boots as thought they were dancing to entertain a child. Ranger understood that the tracks of the animals that grazed freely on the grasslands on the mountainside would be their cover.

On their bellies, they followed the flock of sheep in their path in the trampled snow toward their mark. They settled temporarily behind a clump of rocks. Suddenly there was movement at the campsite. Ranger recognized the man immediately. It was Azizi. He was wearing traditional garb of a bleached cotton _salwar_ and _kameez_, a _lungee_ or _keffiyeh_ on his head and a _chapan_ on his back for warmth. It was the Russian _jezail_ slung over his shoulder that was not traditional. Azizi had pushed the false door to the cave open and exited easily as though out for a Sunday stroll or onto the balcony of his summer home. He stood with his back to the cave entrance taking in the cold crisp mountain air. He was soon joined by two other men, his similarly dressed bodyguards. One of the men slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then passed the pack among them. Each their turn, they lit the rolled tobacco then puffed hungrily.

"I've got you now, you sonovabitch."

There were few trees to hide behind, so Ranger found a small rock formation seemingly carved for his purpose. He removed the military issue American made bolt action _sniper_rifle from his shoulder then set the tripod-like legs around an unyielding stone frozen in the ground. He loaded the seven round detachable single stack magazine then set his gun sight on the three amigos. He took aim. They were no more than fifteen-hundred to two thousand yards away at that point. The _ChevTac_ Intervention M-200 had a range of twenty five hundred yards on a bad day. Three thousand if the wind was at your back Ranger adjusted himself in the frozen rock blind. A small sharp rock jabbed him in the ribs as his elbow rested precariously on another. The wind shot cold air up under his heavy jacket, chilling him. The snow that settled on his backside was cold on his legs. "This is for the innocent people you and your friends killed on September 11, you mutherfucker." With the silencer twisted in place, he held his breath then squeezed the trigger at his intended target.

_Thut, thut thut._

"Three for the price of one. Such a deal I'm giving you, Maffei."

Three small red orbs appeared then grew exponentially as all three men melted into the earth like popsicles in the summer sun. Azizi's cigarette was still attached to his smoking lips when his head exploded.

"Didn't your mother tell you that smoking was bad for your health?" Ranger laughed to himself as he liberated a nervous sigh of relief resulting from the adrenaline rush after a successful hunt. Although his assignment was to erase Azizi only, he couldn't allow the others to live and tell.

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Right guys?" He said to his team. He'd heard rustling behind him earlier but ignored it, too busy with his task at hand. His guides had seemed preoccupied and distracted yet they'd known where they were taking him and why so they shouldn't have been surprised that he'd succeeded. Having apparently already taken the low road home along with the sheep, they were long gone. Ranger hoped that they were loyal to the Afghani citizens and not traitors. He could only trust in his own people that they hadn't set him up.

Snowflakes like down feathers danced before his eyes. He reloaded his rifle and waited patiently. Just in case. He wanted to be prepared if he'd only killed the queen bee encouraging the remainder of the swarm to leave their hive. He had no way of knowing how big the mine shaft was inside and how many Taliban or Al Qaida soldiers it could support. He considered tossing the grenade hanging from his belt to wipe out any remaining insurgents but thought better of it. The blast would surely bring more vermin out of the woodwork. He'd had his fill of reprobate for the day.

Not a soul appeared. Not one. He waited and waited for what seemed like an eternity then packed up his gear and headed back down the mountain alone.

The sun had disappeared leaving only darkness for most of his descent. Luck was on his side as the snow abated and taken a different route while the nearly full moon appeared and lit the remainder of his way back to camp at the base of the mountain. He'd catch the first caravan back to Kabul once he arrived. Ranger smiled as he allowed himself to think of Stephanie for the first time since he'd left her at the airport nearly two weeks ago. He'd be home soon and in her arms.

His descent was not without incident. The ground below his feet crunched noisily in the stillness of the night and the newly fallen flakes hid the icy spots. He'd lost his footing and sat more often than he'd have liked causing him to slide down narrow paths on the mountainside on his cold, numb ass. He scanned the darkness for his guides or more of Azizi's men often. He saw nothing although he heard movement and twigs or crispy tall grass snapping in the distance. Could have been sheep. Had to be sheep or other animals of prey. Another cause for concern.

He arrived at the base camp just before daylight sometime around six-thirty. The last caravan for the day had left an hour prior. Exhausted, shivering cold, wet and smelling of death and sheep shit, he showered, then slept the sleep of the departed until mid afternoon when he had a bite of something traditional and fabulous to eat.

The mess cook, an Afghani soldier named _Farook_, served up local fare of succulent roasted lamb kebobs resting on a bed of oven baked basmati rice and _naan_, a crispy pita like bread. For dessert, they served fresh and pickled mixed fruit with yogurt and pine nuts. He wasn't a big sweet eater but the serving sizes were small and just hit the spot. _Farook _encouraged him to give it a try. He'd search for local Afghani or Indian restaurants to take Stephanie when he got home. She was adventurous in so many ways and he knew she'd enjoy the taste sensations of this simple yet spicy fare.

Six soldiers filled the Hummer that normally only carried five, leaving space for duffels and souvenirs. Ranger's jaunt back to base wasn't planned making him the sixth spoke. The small convoy of five vehicles then headed down the dirt road toward the Kabul outpost that doubled as a staging airport. All passengers were headed home, their stints complete.

They chattered nosily and excitedly about home and family and their girls except for Diane who reminisced about David. Ranger remained quiet listening and enjoying the friendly banter between the new found friends. He leaned his head back against the torn vinyl seat and closed his eyes musing about the lifelong friend he'd made on one of these voyages home. A man he now trusted with his life. Ranger had spent his summers with his grandmother in Miami. Tank had been one of his grandmother's neighbors. Les was his cousin who also made his home in Miami. The three musketeers. Bobby Brown was the friend he'd made on the shuttle home. He was the first person he thought of when starting his new business, aware that a medic would come in rather handy in a business that revolved around guns and violence.

"Going home, Colonel?"

Diane asked from the front passenger seat rousing him from his thoughts.

"Yes." He said without opening his eyes, save the occasional scan of the terrain on his right and his surroundings. Afghanistan was still a beautiful country despite the scars of war.

"Are you married sir?" She asked.

"No." His tone wasn't sharp, but his meaning was clear. He wanted to rest. He was tired. Sleepy. Too much sugar, perhaps. At that moment, he felt his personal life was his own.

Diane turned around and tugged nervously at the strap of her helmet tucked under her chin.

"Got a girl then?" A young man named Alex asked, this time from the odd optional seat in the third row in the back of the vehicle. He sat lopsidedly on the seat with all of its passenger's gear and war mementos. There was no reply although he thought of the dark curls and sparkling blue eyes. "I wouldn't have thought an officer would …"

Ranger spoke up. "My private life is none of your concern soldier, any more than yours is mine." Desperate to decompress. He didn't need the banter. That and the fact that he'd just taken three lives and had yet to mentally accept and atone for his actions. That would come later at this debriefing. Although not innocent, they were human beings regardless. They had mothers and sisters, probably wives and children too. Someone loved these monsters. Someone loved the young soldiers sitting in this vehicle with him also, Stephanie would have added.

"Sorry sir. I didn't mean to … I was just… It's been nearly a year sir. I'm finally heading home. Anxious to see my wife and my new baby girl. I've never even held my little Elaine. She's only five months old. I miss my family." His voice hitched. The others took note and gazed at the sandy tundra. They were all lonely and anxious to get home to their loved ones.

Ranger took heart thinking of Stephanie and how much he missed her too. He turned to the left to face the young lad behind him. "I have a woman. She's not my wife. Not yet. Hopefully when I get back home." In a flash he pictured Stephanie in a long white dress made of satin and lace and dotted with pearls, a thin white veil covering her face, a large diamond on a golden band on the third finger of her left hand. "Tell me about your new little girl."

After a time, they'd all shared stories of home then quieted in anticipation of their approach to their final destination. Just a few more miles. Just a few more minutes. It was just about freezing that day, a balmy thirty degrees. The snow had melted on the road's surface days earlier leaving a cold yet dusty dry surface beneath the H3's heavy duty eighteen inch Michelins.

Robbie asked Kevin, the driver, to stop by the side of the road so he could 'take a quick wiz' he'd said with a hearty southern drawl. Robbie continued 'jawin' as he watered a clump of grass.

"Shut the fuck up Beausoleil, you Cajun prick and move your hairy ass. I want to get to Kabul before the transport leaves. They ain't like public transportation leaving every hour on the hour."

"Y'all can't rush these things." Robbie hollered back. "Taking a good wiz is nearly as good as sex. When you can't get any, that is."

Paul spoke with a strong Boston accent and had apparently left all of his 'R's at home or on the battlefield. He was sitting directly behind Kevin and poked him in the shoulder then said jokingly, "Move up. Pretend yo'ah leavin' him heya. He'll staht runnin'."

"Kevin. Don't. It'll only take him a minute." Diane added.

Kevin nudged the heavy gear shift lever and pulled ahead a few yards as he and Paul laughed. "Hey! Wait for me."

While zipping his pants, Robbie ran through the cloud of earthy dust after the rumbling Hummer toward the sound of hysterical laughter, just as Kevin hit the roadside landmine.

The driver and rear passenger were immediately ejected from the driver's side of the vehicle. With the front of the vehicle now facing the sun, the rear end caught on the dirt pavement sending the remaining half of the vehicle pirouetting skyward ten to fifteen feet into the air. It landed on what was left of the roof then continued its brazen path rolling end over end down a small embankment until it finally rested several feet from the crash site. Flames shot up as black smoke filled what was left of the inside of the vehicle and the blue sky.

Stephanie had fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie. She woke with a start and a jerk, covered in a nervous sweat from her nightmare. No one heard her scream. Something was amiss. She knew it. She'd sensed it in her soul for days. She headed down the steps, too antsy to wait for the lift. She grabbed Bobby and Les in the lunch room as they shared a cold pizza.

"Come on guys. We're going to talk to the boss."

Although they wondered what was up, looking at her face, the messy hair and glistening patina of her skin, they sensed it wasn't good. They stopped by Tank's office uninvited and barged in.

"Tank. Something's wrong. Very wrong. I can feel it. I've felt uneasy since Ranger left. You know that. And now… well, I've just had a horrible nightmare. I can't take it anymore. We have to do something."

She blurted out as he swiped her forehead with the sleeve of her hoodie. She explained what she'd seen in her nightmare in vivid detail to her friends.

"What do you propose we do, Tank?" Bobby asked. "It's been too long and he hasn't checked in. It isn't like him."

Les nodded in agreement as Tank replaced the phone receiver in its cradle.

"Sit. All of you. Bobby. Shut the door."

Bobby tugged on the door and took a seat in the corner chair as Les and Stephanie settled themselves on the dark leather sofa.

"Tank? What's happened?"

Tank continued to rub his face while shaking his head. He mumbled something unintelligible. With a lost and faraway look, he spoke.

"I don't know where to begin."

"Spit it out, man."

The tension would have required a chain saw to slice through. Les ran his hand through his spiked hair. Bobby tapped his foot nervously as he wiped his hands on his thighs.

"It's Ranger isn't it? Is he…?" Unable to complete her sentence, Stephanie covered her mouth to stifle a sob.

Tank shook his head. A lump formed in his throat. "He … um. He was on his way back to Kabul. The driver hit a roadside bomb."

"We just saw that on the news. He's in Afghanistan? Shit." Bobby said as he threw himself back into the rear of the sofa, his hands holding his head as it throbbed.

This couldn't be true. Ranger was tough. The best at what he did. Invincible. He was Batman, for crissake. No one wanted to believe the worst. They refused. Ignoring the facts staring at them in the face, they countered.

"He's only injured then, right?" Stephanie said more as a prayer to stave off a panic attack she felt brewing in her brain.

"Which hospital is he in?" Bobby added.

"Tank. Call General Maffei again. Make him talk to you. Get us on a transport. Something." Les this time.

"That was Maffei." He pointed to phone with his chin. "The explosion. There uh… were no survivors."

Stephanie screamed "NO" then fainted.

Bobby was at her side instantly, tapping her cheeks.

"There's a chance, a small chance," Tank continued. "that he may have survived the crash. He may still be alive. Maybe not. There was no body. At least not one they could identify as his from the charred remains."

"Then where the hell is he?"

Les' voice was raised. Ranger was his cousin. Family.

"Maffei thinks the Taliban may have captured him if he survived. He may be their prisoner."

Bobby and Les looked at each other. Ranger was an officer. They'd torture him before they'd allow him to beg for the end.

"We have to go get him?" Stephanie said as she came around. Was she delirious?

"Steph. We don't know where he is."

"Afghanistan. You said so yourself."

"It's a big place. Lots of places to hide."

"Maffei knows. He wrote his orders." Standing on wobbly yet determined legs, she continued toward the door. "We'll make him tell us. Then we'll go get him. Bring him home."

"Steph. That isn't the way this stuff works."

"No? We can't just leave him there. He could be sick. Injured. Even dying. You don't know what they'll do to him. What they've already…"

"Steph." Tank strode over to her and took her by the arms shaking her gently. "It may be too late, Steph."

"No. He isn't dead. He's alive. I feel it in here." She pounded on her chest as tears ran down her cheeks. "He wouldn't leave me alone. Not now. He promised he'd come home. I won't give up on him. He wouldn't give up on me or you guys either." She pulled from Tank's grasp. With her hand on the doorknob she added. "I'm going to find him."

"You don't know where to begin, Steph."

"He's in Afghanistan. I know that much. I'm going to DC to see General Maffei then I'm going to Afghanistan to get Ranger and bring him home. I'll start there and stop when I find him. Anyone else coming with me?"

A temporary triage area had been set up immediately to separate the dead from the dying and wounded. Men and women soldiers were shouting orders as medics ran from vehicle to vehicle to look for survivors checking for pulses and any signs of life. Soldiers with swathed heads like white turbans, bandaged arms or stilted legs roamed the perimeters aimlessly like zombies in Michael Jackson's pop video _Thriller_.

Smoking Hummers were righted with the help of those in the rear most vehicles undamaged by the explosion. The outpost was sending ambulances to take the less wounded to the makeshift hospital set up at the temporary site they'd just come from. Helicopters hovered overhead to take those in most need to the hospital in Kabul. Body bags began to line the roadside.

The Taliban warriors watched from their mountain caves enjoying the view below, their goal accomplished, their new leader would be pleased. They sipped their cardamon flavored tea and Russian vodka while nibbling on dried fruit and pistachios.

The head army medic from Kabul, a Captain Jake Shepherd, disembarked the chopper then ran toward the still smoking Hummer where Colonel Manoso had been a passenger moments earlier.

"Any survivors, doctor?" He gestured toward the most badly damaged vehicle as he slid his bag from his shoulder.

A middle aged woman dressed in army fatigues with a white and red American Red Cross armband shook her head. Having been in the last vehicle on her way to Kabul for a well deserved weekend of R&R, she was now in charge of identification and body part retrieval.

"None from this vehicle, I'm afraid." With a slight nod of her head, she pointed toward the black plastic packages along the side of the path. The front of her uniform, her knees in particular, were covered in a dark, sticky substance. She smelled of rusting metal, burned flesh and smoke. A beige t-shirt covered her mouth and nose that was haphazardly fastened behind her head with surgical tape. She was just finishing up this perimeter and zipping up a body bag after having placed an errant hand with a golden band, on top of a handless body.

"Ma'am?" A young sergeant called out.

"Yes?"

"I think you should see this."

The soldier was pulling the scorched duffels from the wreckage.

"What is it," She glanced at the name printed on his shirt as she approached, wiping the dust from her hands, then her forehead with her sleeve. "Davis?" There was enough death and destruction without adding any arrogance. She addressed the lad by his last name.

"Ma'am. We've recovered five bodies from this vehicle. Correct?"

"Yes. That's right. There were five passengers. That's customary."

"Ma'am. There are six bags here."

"What?"

Walking over to the rear of what was left of the military vehicle, she began to count. Although badly damaged, the tally was accurate. Five bodies – six bags.

"Maybe the sixth bag belongs to a soldier in another vehicle."

She scanned her surroundings quickly, somehow hopeful but not convinced that someone might approach, looking for his or her bag.

"Look." Davis said pointing to a jagged line in the sand similar to one that a snake might make only wider. She hadn't noticed it earlier. She wasn't looking for runaways. She was looking for severed body parts. There weren't many places to hide. An injured yet conscious soldier may have crawled from the carnage to avoid the flames. Where could this soldier have gone?

"Shit."

They checked the bags for anything that they could use to identify the dead soldiers and the missing one. Wallets held photo IDs and pictures of loved ones who'd never hear their family members voice again. Shirts, now arrested in time, spoke names stenciled in black.

Beausoleil, R., Warren, D., O'Connell, K., Giovanni, P. and Stokes, A.

The name that stood out as unmatched against the dog tags still attached in one way or another to their bodies was: Manoso, R.

"I've heard that name before. It's Cuban like mine. Martinez."

"Neighbors, ma'am?"

"No." She called out to Captain Shepherd. "Jake. Come and look at this."

The captain approached.

"What is it Rosa? I'm kind of busy here."

"I know that but Davis here may have discovered something. Something that we probably shouldn't ignore.

Rosa Martinez Perez relayed the facts as she knew them and the theories that she and Davis had deduced.

"And the name in the duffel?"

"Manoso. Sound familiar?"

"I knew of a Colonel Manoso. Years ago. He was Special Forces but he's retired. He'd have no reason to be here. He owns a business in New York or New Hampshire. No. Jersey. Somewhere in New Jersey. "

"A son, brother or nephew perhaps?"

"Maybe but I don't know if he had any sons. Not sure he was married. He kept to himself."

"We should send out a search party."

"Not here. It's too dangerous." The sun had set and night was upon them.

"But what if he's still alive? Shouldn't we put some effort into looking for him?"

"Doubtful. The locals don't like Americans. Especially soldiers."

"Sir." Davis interrupted. "This was in the bottom of bag."

He handed Captain Shepherd a black business card that read: RangeMen Security LLC. Owner: Ranger Manoso. 17 Hayward Street, Trenton, New Jersey. A scarred manila envelope held what was left of his orders.

There could only be one Ranger Manoso. Colonel Ricardo Manoso was now missing in action. Shepherd wondered what he'd be doing there in Afghanistan. He'd heard about the killing of Azizi and two of his men a few days before at the daily briefing. The Colonel Manoso he knew was a master marksman and had trained many a sniper during his tenure. Was that the reason he'd come to Afghanistan? The pieces of the puzzle were coming together. He surveyed the surroundings. The desert like terrain, the frigid temperature, especially at night and the indigenous hostiles.

"If it's him, he's tough, real tough. If anybody could survive out here it would be him but even he isn't going to survive a bullet to the back of the head." He said out loud but more for himself rather than Davis or Rosa. He added, "He doesn't have a chance in hell."

He'd call General Maffei as soon as he could get a connection.

"How long before we land?" Stephanie always the impatient one, asked Les.

"Soon Steph." He patted her hand gently, lovingly, to comfort her. "The flight is just over an hour. Feel the plane descending?"

She nodded and smiled then sobered just as quickly.

"What if…?" He throat tightened making it impossible for her to complete her sentence.

"We'll find him and bring his home, Steph. I make that promise to you. Right guys?"

Tank and Bobby nodded.

"Absolutely."

"Without a doubt. Ranger will be home as soon as we find him."

Once the wheels were lowered and the plane touched the tarmac, Tank called General Maffei's office and relayed the message that they'd arrived. The secretary, a Private Johnson, the young soldier who'd provided many earlier dial tones, told Tank that a car, driver and body guards, had already been dispatched and were waiting at the hanger door.

Their bags toppled from the overhead bin. They followed the line of passengers through the hatch, then the passenger's loading ramp like cows on their way to slaughter. General Maffei was waiting to greet them at the baggage claim.

He extended his hand to Tank, then Les and Bobby after a perfunctory salute. He looked at Stephanie then Tank.

"Who is this? You never said anything about bringing a woman to this party."

"She's with us."

"Tank. No civilians. You know that."

"She goes where we go."

"I can't allow…"

Les grabbed the arm of the man in the dress uniform, stars gleaming in the sunlight as they raced to the waiting black suburban. He made it appear friendly so as not to be arrested or shot for attacking a United States General.

"You've delayed this long enough, General." He spat out. "The lady comes with us."

"She isn't trained. She isn't qualified."

The vehicle doors opened on cue allowing them to file in after the dash they'd made from the revolving exit door. Large uniformed men with mirrored sunglasses slid in beside them. Stephanie sat squashed between Les and Bobby.

"Tank. I can't allow it. She'll get hurt. I won't be responsible…"

"Trust me General. Stephanie can hold her own."

The general turned sharply.

"Stephanie? Stephanie Plum? THE Stephanie Plum?"

Stephanie finger waved to the general.

"Guilty." She added in a small demure voice.

"Oh shit." The general said as he turned around. "We're all going to die."

In a flip of a switch, the diminutive little lady became Miss Lula Rhino.

"I can take care of myself General Muffy." She said, deliberately mispronouncing his name for effect. "Since you don't seem to be able to find Ranger and bring him home on your own, I guess we're going to have to do your job for you."

The mirrored sunglasses turned their heads nearly imperceptibly as Ranger would have, at her words. One bit his lip and the other made a pouty face to hide their smiles before they turned again to look out the window as they sped down Route 28. General Maffei cleared his throat before giving the driver an unnecessary lane change suggestion as he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

Ranger had mostly first and a few second degree burns but they were few and minor although they stung. The explosion had knocked him out for a few seconds but he'd come around soon enough to crawl to safety away from the heat of the flames and falling remains. He'd have run from the wreckage to relative safety while the munitions truck caught fire and exploded around him, but the broken bone in his leg made it useless at that moment. So he crawled. He crawled toward a small rock pile resembling a small bear as debris rained on him.

"Come on, Manoso. You can do this. Do it for Stephanie."

He imagined his love waiting for him with open arms behind the rock formation. It gave him the strength he needed to push forward. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Ten. Five.

He grasped the edge of the rock with his good hand, tucking the other into his chest, and pulled himself up and forward as his one good leg gave him thrust. Rolling over the top, he allowed himself to fall onto the soft sand he pretended were Stephanie's arms. He was safe. Flying wreckage continued it's decent. A small piece of metal like a bullet pinged off of the rock just above his head then he sank into a blissful respite.

As Tank and Les, Bobby and Steph walked the path to General Maffei's office,

Stephanie began explaining their plan of attack to get Ranger back.

"Not here. I trust nothing and no one." The general spit out tersely. They all felt the same way. The general was still number one on their shit list and until he proved himself otherwise worthy, that's where he'd remain. Twisting his foot on the cigarette he'd just thrown down in the gravel path, he then picked it up and threw it into the pickle bucket filled with sand.

Walking the length of the empty dark corrugated Quonset hut, they passed rows and rows of perfectly made cots with snow white pillows and dark olive green or navy blue wool blankets. The undersides hid simple assorted footlockers on the cold gray concrete floor and an odd item like a pair of boots or package from home, perhaps. Tall gray metal lockers like fingers of a glove filled the small spaces between the heads of the beds.

They passed a gleaming latrine with a flimsy ribbed fiberglass wall separating it form the sleeping quarters. It appeared as though that section of the barracks was an afterthought. Toilets were on the left, and sinks with small mirrors above them were on the right. She pictured some poor private scrubbing the porcelain bowls with his toothbrush as a punishment for an infraction. Knowing that the tone she'd used earlier with Maffei, had she been and enlisted soldier, she would have netted that duty. She mentally massaged her knees.

The shower stalls, open for public display, were to their right, across the makeshift hallway. The air was still damp and it smelled of Dial soap and bleach.

"Here we are."

He led them through a narrow wooden door into his office where he shut and locked it behind them.

Stephanie had expected the General's office to be a grand affair. Lots of brass and war mementos like swords and cannonballs or shrunken heads. It wasn't. Neither was General Maffei. He was dressed smartly in battle fatigues.

He was small in stature for a general, she thought, again not sure exactly what she had expected. No more than five feet five or six, heavy around the middle with thinning graying hair. He wasn't bad looking.

Two mismatched folding chairs faced a small green metal desk.

"Sorry I don't have more chairs. You're welcome to perch wherever you're comfortable."

"What happened?" Tank began without preamble.

General Maffei settled himself in his own rickety chair that strained under his weight. He lit a cigarette, took a long puff then folded his hand together on the desk blotter. The fag now dangling from his fingers.

"The caravan from the outpost at the base of the mountain, Pamir Mountain, was headed back to Kabul…" He stopped and looked at Stephanie as he took another long puff then pinched the cancer stick into an overburdened ashtray. "She can't stay for this conversation."

Stephanie stood quickly and pulled a small Glock 19 9mm gun from her purse and pointed it at General Maffei's forehead.

"You were saying something about a caravan I believe."

"Steph."

Les reached for the gun slowly.

"No Steph. This is not the time or the place. We need to know what he has to say first."

"Oh."

Les uncocked the gun and stuffed it in his pants.

"That's mine Les." She reached for her gun. "Give it back."

"Later." He nodded toward the general. "Listen to what the man has to say first before you shoot him."

General Maffei, still tongue tied and a little pale, pulled a white cotton hankie from his back pocket and mopped up the sweat from his brow. He stood on unsteady pins and opened the small window behind his desk just before he lit another cigarette that he'd taken from a wooden box on his desk.

"Would she really have…?"

As if on cue, all four New Jerseyites, shrugged their shoulders. You just never knew what a determined woman would do to protect her man.

After a few more deep puffs, he sat in his wooden chair with the squeaky wheels, then snubbed out his cigarette in the large glass ashtray. With his hands now folded loosely on the worn green blotter in from of him, he continued speaking as though the crazy woman sitting in front of him hadn't just threatened to take his life.

"Anyway … the caravan was headed back to Kabul where transports would return the soldiers to a US base and eventually send them home. The front vehicle, apparently carrying Colonel Manoso, according to the log, hit a roadside landmine less than one mile from their destination. Eye witnesses several vehicles back said that the vehicle quickly became airborne. The driver's side was completely blown away while the remaining section rolled down a small embankment. It was reported that he'd been sitting in the second row on the passenger side…"

"Never. Ranger always drove or road shotgun."

"Let me finish. There was a female soldier. A Diane Warren." Maffei was flipping through pages of the report on his desk. "Yes. Warren. Diane Warren. There was some discussion as to seating arrangements and the colonel insisted that the 'lady' as he called her, sit in the front. He took the seat behind her."

"Ranger isn't a chauvinist, sir."

"No. I know he isn't. He always treats all of the men or women serving under him equally but apparently the guys in that vehicle were a little rowdy. Anxious to get home. He felt he could control them better from that vantage point plus he'd be less likely to be seen by enemy eyes. The bad news is that he was definitely in that vehicle. The good news is that of all of the seats he could have taken to survive that crash, that would have been the one to take."

"How can you be so certain that he was in that vehicle, sir?" Tank asked.

"His name was listed on the register."

"But he could have taken a different vehicle." Bobby that time.

"No. Again. More eyewitnesses, plus…" he pulled another sheet of paper from the file in front of him.

"A Captain John Shepherd, a medic at the crash site said that he personally found and inspected a scorched duffel that belonged to the colonel. They found his business card inside." He handed Tank a photo taken from a cell phone of the RangeMen business card they'd found. There were also photos of the name _Manoso_ emblazoned on a shirt that was so badly burned that it was difficult to identify it as a shirt. That and what remained of his original orders.

Stephanie recognized the folded corner of the envelope. Ranger tended to fold the upper right corner of envelopes. She touched the spot as though it would bring her comfort. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "May I have those photos, General?"

"I can't give you these, but…" He said holding up his hand before the group before him attacked him for the grainy prints. "I can get you copies, if you'd like."

She nodded her acceptance and the conversation continued.

"You said over the phone that he may have been captured. What would lead you to believe that?" Tank spoke up.

"Captain Shepherd noticed that something had been dragged up to a mound of rocks some fifty or so feet from the wreckage."

"Dragged?" Bobby wondered how he'd managed that.

"Yes. Like he'd dragged himself to safety."

"But where is he now?"

"That's the problem. The drag marks appeared to be like someone had slithered through the sand toward the small knoll but then those tracks ended. Just disappeared in the sand." He stopped talking like he had more to say but didn't know where to begin.'  
"And?"

"And… This is where the capture theory comes in. There were at least two sets of footprints leading from the backside of the rock pile toward a trail used by the local sheep herders to take their animals to market."

"So he walked away?"

"No. The foot prints were too small, and the person or persons, were walking sideways. But then there were new drag marks. More narrow. It appears that if it was him, that someone, well two people, had dragged him possibly under the arms. The drag marks were no wider that the heel of a boot."

Ranger was dreaming about dancing with Stephanie Plum, the love of his life. They were swaying to a soft romantic Latin beat, as he held his new wife to his chest, whispering soft sweet nothings in Spanish. She blushed at his words though in his subconscious he knew she didn't understand a word he had said. He'd have to teach her the language of his ancestors.

Stephanie was wearing that beautiful white dress again, sans the toile and lace veil this time, but she'd kept the tiny baby's breaths that dotted her dark curls. The scent of strawberries in the air brought him back to the night they'd shared and their playtime in the shower. He had just filled his palms with the ruddy fragrant gel and was threading his fingers through her hair when the moaning began. Was he moaning or was it her? Nevertheless, they'd made love under the spray.

She was smiling up as him, her beautiful blue eyes glistening with joy that suddenly changed to concern, then question and fear. Tears sprung and leaked down her face like rusty water. Stephanie covered her mouth with her hands as a small hole in her forehead grew wider and wider. She pulled back from him screaming, her beautiful white dress suddenly drenched in blood. A turban now covered her head and a dark jacket enveloped her as a ragged beard grew from her chin. A flaming cigarette hung from her mouth. He called to her but she didn't reply as she faded from his view then disappeared completely in a puff of thick black smoke.

He woke with a start. His heart was beating double time, and his breathing was shallow. Sweat oozed from his pores, pooling on the frigid earthen bed beneath him. These nightmares were commonplace after such a mission as he'd just endured, and would continue indefinitely. Dizzy and confused, he ached from his head to his toes.

With eyes still encrusted with sand and soot, he surveyed his surroundings. A cave, like the one Azizi has been hiding in perhaps? Where was he exactly? Had he been captured? How did he get there and how was he going to get out and get back to Stephanie?

The catacomb like fissure was cold and damp and smelled of soggy leaves, wood smoke and wet wool. The remains of an animal carcass, most likely a lamb, hung from a tripod made of small saplings and was tied haphazardly with hemp like rope, having been skinned and gutted.

Someone, a woman in a dark brown burka, was encouraging him to sip cold melted snow from a dented tin can while a young girl, a child actually, was pressing a cold compress to his forehead and neck. He sipped the gritty, icy liquid.

The shrouded women let his head fall back gently onto a pile of dried grass encased under a piece of rolled fabric.

"Thank you." He whispered, barely able to utter the words, knowing she might not understand. She smiled. Her face was careworn and smudged with dirt, her clothing was tattered and threadbare, but her smile was genuine and reached her eyes.

The young girl was kneeling beside him, dipping a dark cloth into a pan of water. The cloth she'd used to ease the fever, the heat in his head and body. He was quickly reminded of the burns he'd sustained to his hand and arm when she lifted it to refresh his bandages. His flesh was singed and blistered and his nerve endings were raw and over sensitive. He grimaced and cried out at her touch. She called out to the woman. Words were exchanged. Gentle and encouraging words. The girl nodded to her then continued her assigned task like a miniature Florence Nightingale. She applied a soothing poultice to his wounds that stung at first then cooled before she re-wrapped his burns.

As he tried to adjust himself to sit up, he found he was restrained, in a manner of speaking. His leg, the broken one, was trusted up with branches and secured tightly with rags in a type of brace. His clothing had been removed and replaced with a traditional _salwar kameez_a sort of dress for men, and loose fitting linen pants. He spied the remains of his uniform, torn, bloodied and burnt in a pile in the corner. His boots, though badly damaged from having been dragged through the rocky landscape to safety, were still whole.

The woman, _Afsoon_ said something to the younger girl who he'd assumed was her daughter, in a language he could not comprehend. Possibly Dari or Pashto. She called her _Boosah_. _Boosah_ stood quickly, left his side then returned with a small bowl filled with a clear grayish liquid that she'd scooped from the large kettle hanging over the small fire far from the entrance to the cave. Its aroma reminded him of boiled twigs, roots and rotten flesh. She dipped a spoon into the warm mystery brew then brought it to his lips. It was the worst broth he'd ever tasted but he accepted it hungrily with a smile. They were sharing their meager rations with him. He was grateful as he glanced again at what remained of the little lamb in the corner.

A commotion outside of the cave aroused him from a much needed siesta. The young girl brought her finger to her lips to silence him as she helped her mother cover Ranger with an improvised blanket made from assorted old and worn fabrics. He resembled a pile of dirty clothes waiting for the next empty washing machine. They then cowered in the corner, huddled together by the steaming pot of lamb stew. They spoke in soft whispers as several armed men entered the cave.

Ranger heard their booted footsteps and peered out from under the pile of dirty rags, still remaining hidden beneath.

"_Afsoon! Afsoon_!" The largest of the men called out.

He was tall and heavy set in traditional garb with a medium length dark beard.

_Afsoon_ filled a bowl quickly, the gray liquid splashing over the sides and onto the dirt floor. Handing him the bowl, she bowed and backed away from him.

As the other men neared Ranger, he let the fabric covering his head down slowly and closed the small gap. The air he was forced to breathe in his nest was foul making it difficult for his smoke filled lungs to take in air.

He heard shouting as the bowl hit the cave wall near his head. Apparently the man was not happy with the meal _Afsoon_ had presented him. Ranger heard him spit and pretend to gag. _Afsoon_ screamed as the sound of flesh on flesh filled the small cave over and over. _Boosah_ called out to her mother. Although he couldn't speak or understand their language, Mama sounds like Mama in most all dialects.

The mother's tone was calming letting Ranger know that she was trying to tell the little girl not to be afraid but to stay away or suffer the same fate. Small feet slapped against the sand as _Boosah_ ran across the cave. Ranger assumed that she was going to her mother but _Afsoon_ called out to her daughter again as the little girl began to punch the man who'd stuck her mother. Ranger could hear the deep laughter of the men amidst the thumping of the small fist as she pounded on one of their chests.

"Leave her alone." The little girl screamed in accented English. "Leave my mother alone."

She emitted a high pitched squeal as one of the men struck the little girl. Ranger wanted desperately to help these two women who'd been so kind to him but he couldn't move. With a bandaged arm and a broken leg, he'd be useless in a fight against three maybe four armed and trained soldiers or whatever they were.

"Randy." The woman said in perfect American English. "She's your daughter. How could you do that to her? What's happened to you?"

He struck _Afsoon_ again causing her to cry out.

"_Don't call me that. My name is Farook_." He said in Dari. Ranger recognized the name. The name of the cook who'd fed him at the outpost. Ranger slid his fingers under a piece of cloth hoping to see what was going on yet stay hidden. Yes. He recognized the face.

_Farook_ was twisting _Afsoon's_ arm behind her. Ranger heard a pop and knew that the joint had separated. Her arm dangled aimlessly beside her.

"You're an animal. I hate you."

Another fist sent _Afsoon_ to her knees, then a boot to her ribs again, and again, and again until _Afsoon_ fell silent. _Boosah_ continued to cry and yell at her father.

"_You killed my Mama_."

"_She is just sleeping_." He said as the other men laughed.

"_I hate you. I hate that you are my Papa_." She added in a shrilled voice and lifted her small chin preparing for the blow that would surely follow.

"_Shut up Boosah_."

One of the men spoke to _Farook_ and pointed to the burned army uniform in the corner of the room. _Afsoon_ had meant to burn it in the fire but it smoked too much so she pulled it from the flames.

"_What is that_?" He asked the little girl.

"_Nothing_." She said as her eyes inadvertently met the brown eyes under the pile of rags on the floor.

_Farook_ poked at the clothing with a stick he'd taken from the floor at first but then took the fabric in his hands and passed his fingers across the name he knew.

"Sonovabitch." He whispered under his breath as a smug look covered his face.

Looking at his men, _Jabar_ meaning the bonesetter and _Shujah_ the brave, with a nod of his head, they all knew they'd now captured their target. It had been easier than they'd anticipated thanks to his wife and daughter.

Their original plan had been to ambush the caravan and kill the man in retaliation for taking the life of their leader and his associates but the explosion of the road side bomb had worked even better. He'd crawled right into their midst through the smoke. Now they had him as their prisoner. _Pirooz_, their new leader would soon be notified. He would be anxious to meet the American Colonel and _discuss_ his recent accomplishment. _Farook_ would be promoted. He'd now climb the ladder of power more quickly than he could have possibly imagined when he first joined the group of men who'd assembled on the grounds of the UCLA campus where he was studying. The college campus where he'd met and fallen in love with Rebecca Miller.

Invigorated, _Farook_ then turned to his daughter.

"_Where is he_?"

"_Who_?" The little girl said defiantly.

He shook the burned fabric in her face making her smell it like a dog.

"The soldier. The American soldier who was wearing this uniform." He now spoke English assuring that Ranger would understand him.

Frightened for the wounded American soldier, she replied. "_I do not know what you are talking about. There was no man. I found these out there_." She pointed toward the cave opening.

_Farook_ had seen the earlier encounter. The eyes under the pile of rags on the floor by the fire.

_Afsoon_ stirred.

Grabbing his wife by the back of her _abaya_, he pulled her to her knees then again shoved Ranger's shirt in her face.

"_Where is he Afsoon?"_

"Becky. My name is Becky." The woman yelled in English.

"Where is he?" His angry voice reverberated against the stone walls. Ranger feared a cave-in as dust and debris fell from the ceiling and pelted on top of his hiding place.

"There is no one here but Penny and me, Randy. You're crazy."

"_Your name is Afsoon and my daughter's name is Boosah_."

He slapped her face.

"My name is Becky Miller Johnson. My daughter's name is Penny Johnson from Boulder Colorado and you were once Randall Johnson." She rattled off as though wanting Ranger to get word to her family if he got out alive.

Again he punched _Afsoon_. Her eye and lip were swollen and bleeding.

"_Please. Papa. Do not hurt Mama again_." For a moment Ranger feared he'd be ratted out but the little girl was brave. "There is no man, Papa. He is gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes. He was here but he left. We shooed him away. Mama fired her gun at him. He ran like a goat up the mountain side."

"Where did he go? Show me," _Farook_ was not convinced. He knew Ranger was still there and he knew where he was. The little girl pointed at the cave entrance.

Turning to his wife he said, "You had sex with him first didn't you? In front of our daughter. It is forbidden. You are both now poisoned and impure."

Sex outside of the marriage was forbidden for a woman. A crime punishable by death. A man's indiscretions on the other hand… were not.

"No, please. I told you ..."

The butt of his rifle hit the side of her head so hard that her neck snapped mid sentence.

"Mama!" the little girl cried out.

_Farook_ motioned toward the back of the cave. The two bearded men, smiled then grabbed the little girl still kicking and screaming for her Mama, toward the back of the cave.

Ranger knew by the way the child was screaming that the two men were having their way with her. She was just a child, now a broken child. She was this man's daughter, his baby. How could he do this to his own flesh and blood? Ranger thought about Stephanie and how he'd tried to protect her over the years since he'd met her. How, if this was their child, how he'd want someone to protect her. He tried to move as the improvised blanket was torn from his body.

The little nurse soon joined her mother in eternity as one of the men fired a full round into her tiny body. Becky and Penny Johnson were no more.

Ranger could smell the stench of burning flesh as _Farook_ and his men pulled him from the cave once they'd set it afire to hide the bodies of Randall's wife and child. He was too valuable to leave behind.

The road to wherever they were taking him was rough and jarring causing his injuries to intensify as their vehicle traveled down the dirt road toward their compound. He was blindfolded, gagged and bound like a hog ready for the pit. The rope around his wrists dug into the burn blisters beneath the bandages. They'd also restricted his pedal movement, though unnecessary.

Once settled in his new home, Ranger's gag and blindfold remained but his restraints had been removed when he was attached to a six foot chain and hooked to a large ring fastened to the concrete wall. The heavy iron door slammed as two pairs of boots retreated behind it.

Carefully Ranger removed the black execution hood from his head then slid the dirty rag from his mouth letting it rest around his neck. He took a weak breath before he surveyed his surroundings.

The suite was approximately six feet by six feet with crumbling concrete walls, a wood slat ceiling and dirt floor. Two bowls had been set by the door. One for his meals, the other for 'after' his meals. He wasn't sure which was which. His bed was a torn and moldy wool blanket riddled with bullet holes like it had been used for target practice, with the word "US ARMY' stamped in the center. The color was anyone's guess. A tiny ray of sunshine from the small barred window behind him, moved slowly across the blanket as dust motes danced. It was almost pleasant to watch.

After several hours and a nap, someone pounded on the rusting metal door while shouting angry words. He hadn't moved from the blanket and made no effort to do so as the door opened quickly. One man aimed an oozy at his face as another man dumped something into one of the bowls then set a plastic bottle of what appeared to be water beside it. They vanished as soon as they'd appeared.

Dragging his broken leg across the dirt, the chain restricting his progress, he eventually reached the bowl of what looked like waste a farmer would throw to the pigs. Brushing away the flies, he sniffed the fetid gruel like substance. Although hungry, he wasn't certain he was hungry enough to eat his meal. The water smelled of dead fish but he took a sip. It tasted worst. He wanted to go home. He returned to his bed and slept dreaming peaceful dreams of Stephanie.

General Maffei had arranged passage for Tank, Bobby and Les along with a small army of willing soldiers, to Afghanistan. He agreed to allow Stephanie to go with them to search for Ranger with the clear understanding that he would take no responsibly for her safety or needs. When they'd found him, if a gunfight was imminent, then she was to return to camp and wait for their return. The men would also have to share their provisions and accommodations with her. They all agreed easily. She sat on the floor of the transport sandwiched between the men like a hunk of pastrami flanked by slices of rye bread.

The flight was long, torturously long and bumpy as hell, she thought, but she didn't complain. She'd been granted a very special privilege for which she was extremely grateful plus she was on her way to get her love and bring him home, no matter what condition he was in. Les wrapped his arm around her as hot tears streamed down her face. The other members of the team looked away.

Once they'd arrived at the Kabul airbase, their backpacks were filled with dried meat for protein and water. Blankets and ammunition. Bobby carried the medical supplies.

Begrudgingly, General Maffei had given Stephanie a revolver praying that he wasn't making a serious mistake and endangering his men. Ranger's men assured him again that Stephanie could handle a weapon. They uttered a silent prayer as well.

They trekked up the side of the mountain toward a known Al-Queda hide-out hoping that's where they'd find Ranger or at least what was left of him. Local intel claimed to have seen several men in a Jeep head up that way several days earlier after a fire in one of the caves. They were carrying a large sack, big enough to hold a body, that they'd tossed in the back of the vehicle before they road off toward the hide-out.

Tank felt that was both good news and bad. He must still be alive, or at least he would have been. They'd have had no reason to carry around a dead body with them. Was he still alive? Perhaps. Was he safe? Very doubtful.

Unknowingly, the RangeMen group along with their American volunteers climbed some of the same terrain that Ranger had scaled earlier. Freshly fallen snow covered the frozen ground hiding all previous foot prints of man and beast that might have been left on the mountainside.

As the rising sun shed its small ray of light into the cell Ranger now called home, he was awakened by gruff and boisterous voices near his door. The voices passed after giving his door a 'friendly' kick that reminded him of just where he was. Cigarette smoke like gray ribbons mingled and swirled with the sand dust through the small barred window he knew would not support his size even if it he could reach it. It was well above his head. He was cold and shivering despite the fever brewing within him from the infection settling in the oozing open burns and wounds. His leg throbbed with pain though the fingers of his right hand were numb. Not a good sign. He cradled the arm to his chest allowing the heat from the burns to warm him. He longed for a cup of hot coffee and, a shower and a descent meal. He also longed for Stephanie. Leaning his head back against the cold concrete he closed his eyes then imagined her touch, her smell, the sound of her voice, her laughter, the warmth, and the love she gave freely. Would he ever see her, hold her again? Tell her he loved her and couldn't live without her. Just as his throat tightened, the door flew open.

Two men, dressed in traditional garb, unchained him from the wall, then dragged him through the doorway. His cold bare feet scraped against the frigid rocky earth. He recognized the men's voices and although he couldn't understand the language, the names they called each other seemed familiar. _Jabar_ and _Shulah_. Randall Johnson's aka _Farook_ 's sidekicks.

Ranger was thrown against a hard metal chair where his feet were secured to the legs separately, indifferent to the break, then his hands were tied behind him. One of the men spit in his face before the other one slapped him. Ranger said nothing. A third man appeared. _Farook_. He held a baton in one hand, slapping it in the palm of the other over and over again as he circled Ranger. The other two men laughed as _Farook_ lunged at Ranger over and over touching him lightly but never really striking him. When he touched the arm that continued to ooze precious fluid, Ranger cried out. Amused, _Farook_ touched him again and again in the same spot. His efforts remained unchallenged as Ranger held his tongue. A mighty blow to the broken leg garnered him his revenge for Ranger's silence. Ranger screamed in agony as a fourth man entered the room. _Farook_ smiled as the man entered, while his cloak billowed behind him in the cold morning air. _Jabar_ and _Shulah_ bowed to the man as they quickly retreated from the room.

_Farook_ and the man dressed in traditional garb under his cape, conversed briefly. He stood quietly with his hands behind his back. The man smiled at Ranger maniacally then spoke to him in his native tongue. His eyes were full of something Ranger couldn't read. He couldn't understand the man so _Farook_ translated.

"Colonel Manoso I would like you to meet our new leader _Pirooz Kais_." _Farook_ spoke to him in English.

_Pirooz_ spoke again.

"_Pirooz_ would like to thank you for what you have done for him."

With the death of _Azizi, Pirooz_ was their new leader.

"What have I done for him?" Ranger asked.

The hand behind his back whipped around and hit Ranger so hard just above his ear that the chair and its occupant tilted sideways as though the earth has suddenly shifted on its axis.

The man rubbing his gloved hand spoke angrily.

"You will speak when spoken to_." Farook_ said by way of interpretation.

_Pirooz_ tilted his head toward the door and _Farook_ called out to his men. They arrived quickly and righted the chair then fled stifling their laughter.

While his head spun from the hit, as though his brains were sloshing around in his skull, Ranger found it difficult to understand _Farook_. A jab in the leg with the baton took his mind off of his headache temporarily. He felt the warmth of his own blood trickle down his cheek and his neck. Instantly he felt the cold of the now sodden _kameez_ _Farook_'s wife had dressed him in.

On _Pirooz's_ command, _Farook_ pulled a long serrated knife hidden from within the folds of his clothing. He placed the blade against Ranger's throat and pressed gently drawing a dribble of blood while he and his leader laughed as though they'd just heard the funniest joke on earth.

His time had come, Ranger thought. This would all be over soon. His throat would be slit and his head perched on a stake and paraded around the compound. Stephanie came to his mind in his final moments. Her smile. The way she snaked her hands then her arms around his neck pulling him close to her.

In a flash _Farook_ cut, then tore the garment from him leaving him bare-chested to the cold.

"This is mine." _Farook_ growled in anger and he rubbed the fabric hard on his face.

Pirooz pointed to Ranger's pants. They too were cut and pulled from his body leaving him completely exposed to the elements. He searched the room for a weapon. _Pirooz_ saw a water bottle. Removing the cap, he poured the foul rancid water over Ranger's head and watched him shiver. He called out to the goons standing outside the door. They and several other men entered the small interrogation room like a fire brigade carrying buckets filled with icy water. Upon his command, Ranger's chair was upended then hung from a hook hanging from a hook in the ceiling.

The men took turns slowly dumping the buckets of icy water over Ranger's body.

As Ranger's head swam from the dizziness of being upside down and the recent blow to his head, again he felt his life slipping away unable to breathe as the water filled his mouth and lungs. Just as Stephanie's face appeared before him, his chair was righted. He was unfastened, hauled into his cell, and thrown onto his bed like yesterday's trash. The door slammed behind him. Weak, in pain and frozen to his core, he dragged himself to the putrefying blanket and rapped it around him. To hell with the smell and the vermin. He continued to shiver. If Stephanie could appear for only a moment to warm him.

He'd talked himself into thinking he was warm when _Farook_ reappeared. He knelt before him with a bowl of hot rice with a gravy that smelled like lamb, a chunk of naan, and bottle of clear water. Ranger looked at him as though he'd brought him a display of entrails on a silver platter.

"Eat." He said in English. "It is not your day to die."

After some hesitation and more prodding from _Farook_, he greedily pulled the bowl to his chest and shoveled the food into his mouth with his hand uncaring if it held poison. He hadn't eaten, save the broth doled out sparingly from the little girl, since the meal he'd eaten at the barracks just before his fateful journey. That was two maybe three days prior. He'd lost track of time.

"Not so fast. You will choke." As though on cue, Ranger began to cough. _Farook_ handed him the bottle of water once he'd removed the cap. Again Ranger poured the cool clear liquid down his throat. He took a breath.

As he dipped the naan into the bowl, he asked _Farook_.

"Why?"

"Why what? Why did I bring you food? Like I said. It is not your day to die."

"No. Why did you join this group of …"

_Farook_ stood quickly then tossed the clean and dry clothing he'd hidden under his arm, onto the dirt floor.

"They have a cause. An agenda. They want to rid the world of the filth."

"They kill innocent Americans, Randall."

"Do not call me that. I am no longer called Randall. I am _Farook_."

"They kill innocents, _Farook_. I'm not Muslim but even I know that a true Muslim does not kill innocents."

"They are not innocents."

"Your wife and daughter? They were innocents _Farook_."

"No. My wife slept with another man. It is forbidden."

"Who?"

"You."

Ranger chuckled.

"Me? Look at me. My leg is broken and my arm is burned and useless. I'm covered in burns and sores. I smell like an animal. I can barely move. Do you really believe that I'd be capable of making love to a woman at the moment? _Farook_. I swear to you on whatever bible you hold sacred. I never touched your wife or your daughter. They were innocents _Farook_. True innocents."

_Farook_ began to tremble as though he was the one who'd been soaked then left naked in the cold.

"I had no choice." He began. "I have no choice."

_Farook_ then told Ranger about how he'd met his wife and a man he knew only as Benny at the time. Benny convinced him that the US government was corrupt and that they had to be stopped. As a college student, not yet an adult, but no longer a child, he fell for the charade. Hook line and sinker.

_Farook_ released the confines one at a time so that Ranger could slide on the pants and shirt that he had brought. As booted footsteps approached, Ranger was reconnected to his chains and _Farook_ took his leave. As he reached the door _Farook_ said, "Eat. You will not survive what they have planned for you if you do not eat to maintain what little strength you may have left."

The footsteps continued until they could no longer be heard.

The following morning he was awakened by _Farook_ 's men. But no _Farook_. Ranger noticed the dark sticky substance on their _kameez_ . Blood, most likely, but whose? Was it animal or human, he wondered? Would his blood be spilled next? Beneath their garb, they were also wearing rubber boots and long rubber gloves.

The rusted manacles attached to his wrists and ankles were unhitched from the wall. Unable to walk on his own, he was dragged like a sack of dirty laundry through the long narrow hallway to another room. He was again attached to iron rings, one at the end of each appendage, then tossed on top of the springs of a rusted bed frame.

The walls were concrete but there was little in the way of a ceiling or roof. The sodden dirt floor was littered with rags and what Ranger convinced himself was simply trash. A single light bulb hung from the arm of a lamp, the electrical cord attached to a heavy orange commercial type extension cord. Clothes pin like devices were also attached to the cord that was connected to a DieHard car battery. He knew what was coming.

The dark canvas execution type hood was again slipped over his head and tied loosely around his throat. As he tried to adjust to the darkness the board he was lying on was tilted so that his head was well bellow his feet. Water trickled from a nearby faucet into a set tub where a garden hose had been attached.

Ranger sensed that more men had entered the room as he heard more and different voices. His clothing was again cut from his body with a cold blade that trailed along his flesh. The sting of the simple wounds was bearable though the jabs were not. Icy cold water ran from his feet down his legs, privates, stomach and chest as the men laughed heartily. Water ran over and under the hood, over his chin and mouth then up into his sinuses causing him to cough. As he tried to turn his head, strong hands held it in place. The water eased initially then gushed until he thought he had drowned when it receded again. They did this over and over again. He thought of his love, certain he'd never see her again. He resigned himself to his fate.

Nearly comatose, the water torture was stopped. Just as he relaxed, still soaked and frozen to the bone, he felt a clip on one of his toes. The soldiers snickered heartily then flipped the proverbial switch for just a split second as an electrical shock blasted through his body. His back arched in pain. His cries, music to his captor's ears. He tried to think of Stephanie but couldn't remember her face.

Tossed onto his blanket, back in the cell, he now knew as home, his hood and restraints were roughly removed before he was reattached to his personal ring. As he pulled the blanket around him and shivered, a metal bowl was placed by the door. More gruel. He would have eaten it had he had the strength to move the two feet to get it.

An unknown voice spoke in English.

"Eat. We have more games planned for you tomorrow."

"What do you want from me?" Ranger whispered barely able to breath, let alone speak.

The man did not reply. He just laughed as he pulled the metal door shut behind him.

Throughout the night, Ranger heard what he thought were screams from the other cells but they could have been his own.

"Are we almost there?" Stephanie anxiously asked yet again. She was tired and her feet hurt but her question was not a complaint, simply a query. She could do this. There was no turning back.

"Hopefully soon Steph."

They approached a clearing below the ridge where they stood, where the sun shone brightly. The slightly lower elevation was warmer yet unreachable without being detected.

Suddenly Stephanie rapped on one of Maffei's men's shoulder.

"He's here."

"What?"

"He's here. I can feel it." She raised her head and sniffed the air like a hound picking up a scent.

"Ma'am. It's an open field." Sheep crazed lazily. "There's nothing here." He looked at one of his team members and rolled his eyes quietly saying, "She's crazy."

"Listen to her." Les added. "She's got a sixth sense about this stuff."

Again the men looked at each other and the untrained crackpot in their midst.

Then to Stephanie Les said, "Where Steph? Where is he?"

She stood tall and turned in her spot then focused toward a large rock arrangement like a blip on a radar screen.

"There." She whispered. "Behind those rocks."

One of the other men consulted his map. "There's nothing there. Including those rocks."

"He's there Les. I know he is."

They continued walking, with RangeMen guns now drawn as they approached.

"Damm." One for the soldiers said. "Will you look at that?"

Upon closer inspection, it became more obvious that the outcropping before them was man made. More likely than not, to confuse and deter any unwanted intruders. They'd been looking for a concrete bunker once used as a safe haven or stopover for the shepherds as they tended their flocks during the cold winter months. The series of small buildings long since damaged or destroyed by the years of fighting their holy wars, lay just ahead of them. It was their intent to spend the night there and rest, grab a bite to eat, but now they had to change their strategy.

Taliban soldiers guarded the perimeter with Denix Russian AK-47 Assault Rifles. There were three of them, each walking up and down on three sides of the building. The entrance must have been guarded from within. The team had no way of knowing how many more armed soldiers were hunkered inside the crumbling structures.

"Are you sure Steph?" Tank asked her. "Cause if we go in there, we're in for a real shit fight." He glanced quickly at those around him. "We might not all make it."

Stephanie shook her head. "Positive."

"You heard the lady." Then to the unsuspecting men below he said. "Company's coming for dinner."

New plans were made.

Stephanie remembered that she had agreed that if they allowed her to look for Ranger that she would return to base with one of the men when they actually went in to get him. It was the only way that General Maffei had agreed to let her go. Reluctantly, she headed back down the mountain side with one of the General's men by her side.

The remaining RangeMen and Maffei's men checked their gear, added silencers. They'd slither like reptiles on their bellies toward the open area as soon as night fell to cover themselves as much as possible.

Ranger had spent another day enjoying the labors of his captors. He was pressed against the cold concrete walls, wrapped in his torn and tattered excuse for a blanket, sipping fetid water from a plastic bottle while eating dry, bug infested rice with dirty and bloodied fingers.

Leaning his head back, he scraped another line with a stick on the wall signifying one more day. One more day without Stephanie. He felt a tear prickle his dust encrusted eye. His resolve was wearing thin.

As dusk approached, the men prepared to leave the safety of their ledge to begin the assault and secure the area in an attempt to free the hostage. They'd watched the guards carefully, while waiting for the sun to set. Each guard patrolled for three hours with a one-man changing of the guard every hour. That meant they only had one hour to eliminate the three sentinels, whoever was inside, then find and rescue Ranger. They had no idea if Ranger was actually there and if he was, what condition was he in. Then they had to get everyone safely to the clearing for their chopper pickup. It was going to be tight.

Sometime during the evening, as the sun had just about set, Ranger heard shouting. Angry voices echoed off of the walls and down the barren hallways. He'd heard it before, most every night and normally ignored it but that night was different. Something was seriously wrong. As with most victims in his situation, he had become used to the routine, such as it was, it helped him cope with his destiny. He found this interruption of the norm quite disturbing.

"Stop it." He mumbled nearly breathless. "I can't sleep."

The voices intensified as scuffling was heard outside his door. He covered his ears like a child forced to listen to the sounds of his parents arguing, but the sudden ring of gunfire was not to be denied.

More wrestling, thunderous voices and the resonance of bullets hitting the concrete walls continued for what seemed like hours. Then there was silence. Peaceful yet deafening silence. Ranger slept oblivious to the carnage that now lay outside of his prison until his door was opened.

The group of soldiers and RangeMen descended upon the bunker before the glow of moonlight could light their path. The three guards lay in pools of blood still within their given paths. The bunker door was already wide open, welcoming them in. Heedful, they entered a large room, weapons drawn, sweeping the area. Seeing nothing, they continued slowly, their boots crunching on the dirt floor. The leader of the group held up two fingers and pointed to each room. In step, two men entered each space.

The first two men saw the bodies dressed in traditional garb, _Farook's_ henchmen, _Jabar_ and _Shujah_, leaning up against the wall leisurely as though having a chat or a fag break, with holes in their chests the size of dinner plates.

Bobby and Les entered the room where Ranger had spent most of his days. There were chains and a whip hanging from a makeshift affair on the wall and the menacing hook in the ceiling from which Ranger hand dangled upside down. Buckets lined the other wall like a fire brigade. Some filled with water, but most were empty. A metal bed frame lay sideways in a murky puddle in the center of the room waiting for its next occupant. Les felt his chest tighten. How would he tell his aunt what he'd seen? What had happened to her son? Her youngest? Her baby.

Tank and another of Maffei's men entered the next space then had to cover their mouths stifling the gag reflex as they gazed, stunned at the sight. Flies buzzed busily as maggots feasted. Two more men, Ranger's guides, _Hadi_ and _Rahman_, sat comfortably up against the wall, their legs crossed at the ankles, their hands folded in their laps, and their heads propped on posts several feet from them, ready to roast on a spit. A man in a cape lay face down with a hole in the back of his head.

Gathered in the large room they'd entered originally, they shook their heads when Tank whispered, "Where the hell is he?" Little hope remained amongst them for Ranger's chances of survival.

Like a sign from above, the moon suddenly appeared then shone through the small window in Ranger's apartment, forming a golden stripe under his door. A door they hadn't noticed in the darkness of their confines despite the night goggles they wore that had bathed everything with an eerily green alien-like light. Pressing their backs against the crumbling walls, they sidestepped their way toward the light.

The heavy metal door was locked with a simple iron rod that slid into a crudely dug out hole beside it. Slowly Tank slid the creaking devise to the side. Aiming their weapons at the opening while others continued to scan their environs, Tank and Les yanked the door open then swept the room.

The moonbeam now lit a sleeping form, covered in a blanket not suitable for a dog. Across the room, lay the body of _Farook_. His eyes were closed, his head slumped on his shoulders as though in sleep and his mouth agape from a self inflicted gunshot. The handgun still entangled in the fingers of the hand resting in his lap.

Les was first to reach him. He knelt at his side as he lowered his weapon. The overwhelming stench of sweat and excrement made it difficult to touch him. He pulled the covers back. A lump formed in his throat seeing the naked body of his cousin covered in blood, open sores, festering blisters from the burns. There were sticks still attached to the leg he assumed was broken, and he easily bore several day's growth of beard. Les swallowed before he spoke.

"Ranger? Can you hear me?"

He got no reply. He looked up at the men now gathered around him waiting, hoping for some signs of life.

"Ranger? It's Les. Wake up man."

Ranger mumbled in his sleep at first softly then louder as his nightmare intensified letting out a blood curdling scream. He scurried back like a frightened child and cowered in the corner of the room pulling the blanket up to his chin. Eyes foggy with confusion and filled with terror, panned the faces in front of him.

Someone in the background said, "He's alive. Call Maffei. Get that chopper out here, pronto."

Stephanie was wearing a path in the concrete floor of Maffei's office where she insisted on staying waiting impatiently for word from the guys. Maffei was just about to light another cigarette when his phone rang.

"Maffei." He gruffed. "Yeah? Is he … ?" He listened to the voice on the other end as Stephanie leaned her palms on his desk with baited breath. Had they found him? Was he alive? "Yes. I'll tell her."

As Stephanie opened her mouth, even before she could say a word, General Maffei spoke as he dialed another number.

"They found him. He's alive."

"Oh God." She mumbled as she began to tremble.

"Maffei here. They found him. Release the chopper. Now." He hung up.

Maffei rose and headed toward the door.

"Wait at the infirmary." He said as she grabbed his arm. "No Miss Plum. You are not going. I'm sorry. I won't be responsible for you."

Bobby spoke softly and asked Maffei's men to leave the room leaving only Tank, Les and himself behind. Bobby then approached Ranger and also knelt before him at eye level, Tank lowered his towering frame, leaning on one knee.

"Ranger? Do you know who we are?"

Ranger looked at the men, his men, but uncertainty was written on his face.

"Do you know who you are?" He asked easily. Bobby thought that he might be suffering from amnesia. It wasn't unknown in circumstances like this. The mind did strange things to protect itself from the harsh realities of the situation.

The former prisoner thought for a moment then shook his head up and down.

"Yes." He said. His voice, barely a whisper.

"Tell me your name." Bobby tried to take his wrist to check his pulse rate but Ranger resisted and pulled his grimy hand from Bobby's grasp.

Again he hesitated before he replied.

"Manoso, Ricardo. Colonel. US Army. B113695."

Name, rank and serial number.

"Do you know who Ranger is?"

He cocked his head, thought, then replied.

"Yes."

"Are you Ranger?"

"How do you know that name?"

"You're our friend. I'm Bobby. Bobby Brown. This is Tank Thibodeau and Les Santos, your cousin. We've come to take you home."

Ranger's gears began to turn again. Recognition had begun.

"Stephanie. Is Stephanie here?" He leaned his head to the side trying to get a look at the soldiers standing by the door.

"No. Not here. General Maffei wouldn't let her come. Too dangerous. She's at the outpost waiting for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah man. She is."

Ranger smiled as a tear then two streaked his cheeks. He tried to get up.

"Take me to her. I have to see her. She must be sick with worry."

Bobby helped him into the shirt he'd just removed, to cover some of his nakedness.

"Can you stand, Ranger?"

Weak as a sick kitten, they all knew they'd have to carry him out. The men had already removed their shirts and belts to form a stretcher.

Despite his state, the men wanted to allow Ranger to leave his prison with as much decorum as possible. Les pretended to stoop to tie his boot to give Ranger something to climb. Ranger tried to hold onto his dignity and the blanket he'd wrapped around his waist while attempting to crawl over Les' back.

"I can't do it. My leg. It's broken." He cried out in agony as he slid back down onto the floor. Maffei's men caught him as he collapsed then settled him on the bed of shirts and belts and rifles, for strength.

His eyes were closed as he passed the dead and rotting bodies of those he'd spend the last part of his life. In the distance, Ranger could hear the familiar, soothing sound of rotor blades flapping. He let sleep take him. He was going home at last. And soon, very soon he'd hold his love in his arms again.

Settled in place, he listened as soldiers hurriedly entered the helo and strapped themselves in their places along the cold hard floor.

The pilot called out, "Let's go ladies. We've got to get out of here. Now."

Bullets pinged off of the chopper's skin as they rose up and out of range.

Bobby and another medic tended to Ranger inserting IVs filled with antibiotics for his festering wounds and a saline solution to hydrate him.

"We'll do this again when we get you to the hospital but we've got to start cleaning your injuries as soon as possible." Bobby knew the leg would have to be reset. Not much could be done for the many cigarette burns and whipping welts that covered his chest and back. He wondered if the doctors would be able to save the arm that Ranger now held tight to his chest. The putrid smell of the breakdown of his bodily chemicals rose from the infected areas. His fingers were discolored yet he'd utilized them to cling to the blanket he'd used to cover himself. He'd require skin grafts too. There would be telltale web like scarring. It would be severe.

"How are you holding up, Ranger? Can I do something to make you more comfortable?" One of the soldiers asked as he approached him slowly then knelt beside the makeshift hospital bed.

Ranger looked at the soldier and tilted his head. It was noisy inside the whirling lawnmower they were riding in but the voice, the voice seemed familiar, though in his confusion he couldn't quite place it.

"Speak again." He thought to himself. "Who are you?" Ranger managed to ask as the other soldiers watched from their perches.

The soldier released the band below his chin then removed his helmet and goggles. He shook the wild head of dark curls and smiled.

"Babe?" He'd become delusional, he thought. It couldn't be Stephanie. It couldn't be. Could it?

"Yeah. It's me." Tears ran down her dusty cheeks. "It was taking you too long. So we came to get you. We're taking you home."

"Yeah. Ranger." Tank said. "I'm sick of all the damned paperwork."

"Home." Ranger sighed as his eyes prickled with tears. "I'm going home." He repeated as he released a breath. He allowed himself to relax as Stephanie held his hand.

Once Ranger had been treated at the outpost in Kabul, he was flown to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, a US Military hospital in Germany.

After numerous surgeries, and several weeks had passed recuperating, Ranger was deemed fit to fly back to the US. Recovery was quick once the old cranky Ranger returned. Although scheduled to spend time at Walter Reed in DC, Ranger cut that stay short, wanting to return home and get on with his life, such as it would be, with his new disabilities. Stephanie had remained at his side every minute cheering him on and propping him up when it all became too much to handle.

Ranger was being wheeled to the exit door of the Meadows and Weinstein Rehabilitation Facility, after a grueling physical therapy session. Hopefully his last. Stephanie had been to most of his sessions in the beginning so she could learn how to help him perform his strengthening exercises at home but hadn't attended the last few at Ranger's request. He was exhausted and ready for bed when Stephanie walked through the front doors to pick him up, but he had a surprise for her. She'd parked the Escapade by the front door.

Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was wearing worn light blue jeans and a bright blue wool jacket and a huge smile across her face.

"Ready to go home, Batman?" She said as she approached.

"Wait." He said raising his hand to stop her. She stopped as a frown line drew across her face.

Ranger pushed himself up from the wheel chair as the orderly waited patiently while he stood. With a deep breath, he took a step toward Stephanie then another without the assistance of a crutch or his cane. He pulled his arm from the sling around his neck and reached for her in a way he never thought he'd ever be able to do again. She started to walk toward him again then ran.

"No. Wait." She stopped only a foot away from him.

Covering her mouth with both hands as she beeped happily, dancing up and down, she said, "You're walking. And your arm."

As he stood before her, carefully, he lowered himself to the floor on one knee. The orderly stood nearby to catch him, if need be.

He removed the ring from his pocket and took her hand in his.

"Will you marry me now, Stephanie."

She gasped, barely able to speak.

"Yes. Definitely yes."

He slid the diamond and sapphire ring onto the third finger of her trembling left hand the rose slowly. Wrapping her arms around his waist, he held her properly for the first time since he'd left her standing in the airport so many months ago.


End file.
